


To Himling: Part Three

by vetiverite



Series: To Himling [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Brain Injury, Brothers, Coma, Durin Family, Durin Family Angst, Durin Family Feels, Durincest, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Dwarven Politics, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Espionage, Gentle Sex, Ghost Thorin, Ghost Thrain, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, Intrigue, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seizures, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Tauriel? Who's Tauriel?, tropes tropes tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-10 11:28:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19904986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vetiverite/pseuds/vetiverite
Summary: From shared trust and shared trauma, unfamiliar feelings begin to grow... but Fíli's royal destiny threatens to get in the way.





	1. The Blessed Green

**Author's Note:**

> When I originally posted this, I accidentally left out an entire chapter (#7: Hammer). I have restored it and renumbered the chapters. I apologize deeply!

Early one morning after the thaw, the brothers went hunting. Clad in drab brown and grey, plaits hidden beneath their hoods, they collected their bows from the armory and slipped out before the household awoke. 

The deer forest waited a hour’s hike southwest. It had been their kingdom ever since Dís first allowed them to step outside of the settlement. Himling lay out of reach across the water, so they claimed the wilderness instead—charting its mysteries, memorizing its paths. 

Kíli slowed his stride to the rhythm of Fíli’s limp. Neither spoke, though they often glanced and smiled at each other. From time to time one took the other’s hand to help him down a gully or over a fallen tree. Eventually they stopped letting go. 

No awkwardness marred the quiet between them. This comforting silence was its own tongue apart. 

When they reached their customary blind, the brothers crushed and rubbed new birch buds on themselves to mask their scent. Kíli rolled his shoulder a few times; Fíli his wrist. They nocked a single arrow apiece and crouched in the brush to watch and wait. 

The chilly morning air smelled of black loam, melting snow, and wet wood; a faint whistling breeze carried birdsong to their ears. One twig snapped in the distance, then another. Kíli tensed slightly each time but otherwise remained as motionless as a stone idol. 

Kíli was born for the bow. Normally clumsy and impulsive, at one touch of an arrow’s fletch he transformed into a killer—focused, patient, deadly. Fíli (whose talents ran to charging and thrusting and hewing and roaring) marveled at the subtlety of his brother’s gift. Watching the change come over Kíli never failed to excite and fascinate him. 

Once more, the sharp report of dry wood breaking underfoot. 

Fíli sat back on his heels as Kíli shifted his weight, lifted his bow, drew the bowstring back to his cheek, and stilled himself— all in a breath. With mingled pride and apprehension, Fíli watched his brother divine the source of the sound. 

A doe stepped into view. 

Barely more than a yearling, new to the grace of maturity, she picked her way delicately amid winter's fallen branches. A curious white blaze like a blessing-sign marked her brow between her eyes. Nearer and nearer she came, stopping here and there to sniff the wind, no more wary of them than of a stone or a twig. How lovely she was; how vital and free. 

Fíli suddenly loathed the hunt with all of his being. Beside him Kíli’s bowstring creaked; he stiffened and bowed his head— 

_(please no)_

—but instead of the vibrato hum, the percussive thud of impact, the agonized bellow—silence. 

Kíli had let the bowstring go slack. He sat for a moment studying the weapon in his hands, then laid it carefully on the ground. Turning to Fíli, he shook his head. 

_(I can’t.)_

Fíli touched his right shoulder with a questioning look. 

_(Does it hurt?)_

Kíli shook his head again. He looked back at the doe, who had begun to nose the fallen leaves in search of lichen, and flattened his hand on his chest. 

_(No. I haven’t the heart.)_

Awash with gratitude, Fíli touched Kíli’s sleeve to regain his attention. He grasped his brother’s hood and pulled him forward into an embrace. 

_(Thank Mahal.)_

Warm breath on chilled skin; the feathery brush of eyelashes against the other’s cheek. They leaned into each other with a sense of safety and peace. 

Branches dipping and swaying overhead; dew pattering down. 

Another snapped twig; a tiny flash of movement over Kíli’s shoulder. Fíli drew back and made a rapid series of hand-signs. 

_(Quiet. Eyes to me. Don’t move.)_

Kíli’s nostrils flared wide, but he obeyed. 

Rustling leaves; pent breath. 

When the doe’s muzzle first brushed Kíli’s ear, he closed his eyes. She nosed his hair, his temple, investigating his unfamiliar scent. He did not move until she began to nuzzle his throat; then he tipped his head to offer her more of him to explore. She tentatively licked the salt from his skin, and his lips parted: _Ohhh._

_(You are so beautiful.)_

It started that moment, coming from nowhere, resounding bell-pure through the halls of Fíli’s heart. 

_(You are so beautiful.)_

He did not recall ever thinking such a thing before. He could not define it, did not know what to do with it. 

_(Beautiful because alive; beautiful because mine)_

He inhaled sharply, and the doe sprang away, crashing through the underbrush. 

They remained as they were for a long moment, each sunken in a separate rapture. Then Fíli murmured, _Brother?_

Kíli slowly opened his eyes. He laughed as Fíli leaned over and pretended to wipe drool from the corner of his mouth, but the encounter had left him dazed and distant. 

_You’re shaking._

Kíli snorted. _H-hardly._ You _are._

Soft and low: _Yes._  
  
_Oho, you’ll admit it?_

Even softer, even lower: _Yes. I couldn’t deny anything as wonderful as what I just saw._

Kíli blushed and for once, Fíli did not tease him for it— could not, for steadfast Kíli held his gaze, and a word unspoken between them brought heat to both their cheeks.

___________________

That evening at table, they sat across from one another instead of side by side; that night, they each carefully kept to his half of the bed. An odd unease dwelt between them, a newness which demanded consideration. But by morning it had resolved itself; they awoke as they’d awoken forever: Nadad-Mim and Naddith-Zanid. Something had been tested, and it had held; their compass still pointed toward its north. 

All the same, they returned again and again to the deer forest that spring, making instinctive tracks back to that moment.


	2. Diamonds

At the new moon, the brothers spent a fine afternoon at the beach gathering sand diamonds, the crystal-clear pebbles left sparkling on the strand when the tide withdrew. Though such stones are too commonplace to be precious, Dís liked them, and Fíli and Kíli thought they might collect enough to make her a diadem. 

Fíli kept the diamonds safe in his belt pouch because Kíli would lose them—even he’d admit that. Every time he found a new one, Kíli insisted on recounting them all— tugging Fíli to a standstill so that he could unclasp the pouch with his own two hands. 

_I may l-lose them, but you, you’ll st-steal them,_ he informed Fíli with a blinding-bright flash of smile. 

_What need would I have for them, ‘ibinê?_ Fíli remarked tenderly. My jewel. 

They both blushed at once, and violently. Fíli looked down at the sand; Kíli smiled up at the sky. 

In the thin spring sunlight, they became children— flattening clouds of seafoam with their bare feet, slinging clumps of wet dulse at one another, laughing at everything and nothing. When Fíli’s ankle began to ache, Kíli spread out his coat upon the sand to let his brother rest. Fíli drowsed for a time and woke to Kíli’s fingers weaving idly through his hair. 

_Sea dragons took you,_ Kíli told him in a teasing whisper. _Y-you-you’ve been gone two hundred years. I found you washed up on the beach all t-tangled up in seaweed. If you want me to free you, it’ll cost you… eleven diamonds._

 _Keep me captive,_ Fíli replied. 

If Fíli had grinned up at his brother, it would have ended that very moment; both would have laughed, moved on, forgotten. But Fíli did not. His sleepy sea-blue eyes penetrated Kíli’s dark brown ones for a long moment, searching for some unknown clue before sliding shut again. 

Soon Kíli resumed combing his brother’s hair, fingertips spreading even more gently and deliberately through the amber strands.

___________________

They made their mother’s diadem together, working the silver into undulating patterns and setting each sand diamond into the curl of a stylized wave. The finished result was pleasing, but its makers knew that it was incomplete. Two of the gathered diamonds - the largest and most perfect ones, in fact - had mysteriously vanished from the pile. 

Fíli hid his in the binding of a book he knew Kíli would never read. 

Kíli hid his in the bedpost nearest his pillow, tucked into a hole where a lost peg used to fit. 

Some nights, the brothers fell asleep back to back— Fíli with the book open under his cheek; Kíli dreaming beside him, one hand curled around the bedpost.


	3. Songs

One evening, the brothers decided to bring out their fiddles. Neither could quite play; Fíli’s stiff left hand could not manage the frets, and Kíli's bowing arm still ached. After some disappointment, inspiration struck. Fíli jumped up, went to Kíli’s bench, and laid his bow to his brother’s strings. With one fingering and the other sawing, they scraped out a squawking tune. 

Kíli laughed— not the hollow laughter of fear and agitation, but real laughter born of real delight. _This is the www-worst duet we’ve ever played! he crowed._  
  
_No,_ cried Fíli. _The best._  
  
_Finish the song; it’s not done, and anyway, I want to sing,_ Dís scolded. 

Fíli straddled the bench behind Kíli, wrapped a steadying arm around his brother’s ribs and hooked his chin over his shoulder. He tapped Kíli’s head with the bow. _Be good, Zanid._  
  
_I AM good. Count off._

On their second try, they succeeded in producing a passable melody. Dís sang: 

_By the river, by the river,_   
_I saw a man old,_   
_In the river, in the river,_   
_Panning for gold._   
_O why do you suffer_   
_And uselessly seek,_   
_When there’s silver, plenty silver,_   
_In yonder creek?_

As the last bowed note died away, Dís clasped her hands in praise, then turned aside to pick up her workbox. She did not see Kíli lay his hand on his brother’s wrist to stop him from moving away; nor did she glimpse the look on her elder son’s face: thankfulness in being made to stay.


	4. Crests

At twenty years’ age, a Khuzd child is presented with four objects – hammer, pen, flute, wooden sword – and bidden to choose one. Depending upon their selection, they receive their first skill: smithing, writing, playing music or fighting. Of course they learn all four in time, and many more besides. But the first choice reveals the hidden heart, the legacy to be left behind. 

All three of Thráin’s children chose the hammer. He would have preferred swords for his sons and a flute for his fair girlchild, but no: one by one, they all reached for the lowliest tool. And yet Thráin was not entirely disappointed: at least none of them reached for the pen. 

Fíli hadn’t even hesitated. 

That her elder child might become a scholar-king like Glóin the Word-Wise at once pleased, amused, and alarmed Dís. Her tribe’s recent history had comprised too much war and wandering to allow for serious book-study; yet the thirst for knowledge had survived, rising anew in the relative peace of Khagal’abad. Until a proper tutor could be found, Dís herself could teach Fíli his runes— and introduce him to his family. 

One winter afternoon, mother and son stood before a tall, black marble slab upon which an upside-down tree had been chiseled, its limbs festooned with crests like bountiful fruit. The brothers had run giggling past it a thousand times without a glance, but now Dís pointed to the topmost crest. 

_That is Durin the Deathless,_ she told him. _He gave our folk its name._

Names fascinated Fíli lately. They seemed to him like secrets; it made him feel important and wise to know so many. It took a lot of effort, because they were constantly changing. Mother and Uncle, for instance, were really _Dís_ and _Thorin_. Master was _Bhurin_ , and Nana was _Fenja_. Yesterday Kíli had been _Cub_ , but today he was _Flea_ ; if he was very, very good and didn’t bite, he’d be _Cub_ again— 

_See how every other crest comes after,_ Dís’ voice intruded. _Durin the Deathless was the father of us all._

Her son looked at her with pity. Didn’t she know Papa’s name was _Ganin?_

_Here are my parents, who were your grandparents,_ said Dís. _And there’s me, and Uncle, and our brother Frerin who died before you could meet him._

Papa’s crest was far from the main tree trunk. Why? Dís directed Fíli’s gaze back up to the first Thorin. _You see how his crest is flanked by those of two women,_ she observed. _One was his wife; the other was… well, not. But he honored her, so we honor her too. Your father came from her line. That’s why his crest sits underneath hers._  
  
_So that’s where Papa went. Back to visit his people,_ thought Fíli. Death’s name had not yet joined his collection. But he couldn’t ponder the matter too deeply now; something else had caught his eye. 

_Why is my crest underneath Uncle’s?_ he asked. _Shouldn’t it be under Papa’s, or yours?_

How to explain so that a child would understand? Well did Dís recall Thorin’s desperate pleading, Frerin’s tears, Thráin’s acid contempt. Many a fragile bough splits and breaks under the weight of what must be told, yet one must be brave and step out… 

_If Uncle had a son, that son would become King after him,_ she told her firstborn carefully, illustrating with one fingertip. _Instead he has you, Treasure— and all Kings have to stay in a straight line._

When realization burst over him, he did not cry, but only stared at the row of illustrious crests. Then, with a slight edge of panic: _Where is Kíli? I don’t see him._

 _He’s to be added later._  
  
_Why?_  
  
_Well… Kíli is your Heir, but only until you have a son to take his place. Then Kíli becomes my Heir and inherits Thorinutumnu. If you sire only daughters, or if you have no children at all, your brother will follow you to the Throne. But we can’t see the future, and we can’t add Kíli’s crest until we know where it belongs._  
  
_It belongs next to mine._ A small fingertip stabbed the rock so hard it bent back slightly at the first joint. _Right there!_

Her son’s intransigence reminded Dís very much of Thorin and – uncomfortably – more than a little of Thráin. In consequence, she spoke more sharply than she would have liked. _Absolutely not! That’s where your lady wife’s crest will go. Kíli’s may go under yours, but never next—_

Fíli turned on his heel and marched out of the great room. 

When he didn’t join them at the midday meal, she hid her worry as Kíli could not. He’d bitten his _nadad_ that morning – just a tiny little nip, hardly even a _taste_ – and now Fíli had run away, all because of him! 

_Don’t be silly, my love,_ Dís soothed. _Nadad’s just thinking his thoughts. He’ll come back when he’s finished._

Fíli did indeed return at suppertime. Clear-eyed and calm, he seemed to have settled his mind over today's bad tidings, though he avoided Dís on the odd chance that she might produce more. He did not tell her what conclusion he'd reached; nor did he beg pardon for his rudeness. Instead he went straight to Kíli, eagerly hoisting him up and spinning him around and around.

 _Amê,_ he cried, victorious at having hit upon the truest and most unchangeable name of all. _Amê, Amê._

Mine.


	5. Quarrel

Once more, the elders returned to Thorinutumnu; once more, they met with less-than-perfect welcome. 

_You put them off before and none too politely,_ Dís told Fíli, not looking up from her worktable. 

He scowled at the floor. _I was still healing. We were still in mourning._  
  
_No, you were up and already swinging a sword, even if it was wooden._ To free her hands, she’d momentarily placed a length of thick silver wire between her lips; now she removed it and began to wrap it tightly around a stone form. _No sovereign comes to the throne uneducated, Fíli. Did you ever see Thorin read only for pleasure? Did he travel the world merely to look at the scenery? He was learning. Always, always learning. Even_ \- here her voice turned steely - _when he was in mourning._  
  
_He had years more to learn than me. He was almost a hundred when he became King._  
  
_He was thirty years younger than you the first time he went to war. The_ first _time, Fíli._ His mother’s eyes narrowed over her work. _Experience pays no mind to age. It came to him; it comes to you. You think you’re starting too early, but in fact, you’re starting late. Your childhood lasted far longer than Thorin’s. It’s vital you catch up. You’re ready._  
  
_I’m not._  
  
_You don’t have a choice._  
  
_But I thought— Uncle would reign for many, many years before I—_  
  
_You’re only being asked to_ read, _not to rule!_ Dís’ annoyance hung in the air like smoke from a snuffed candle. _Everyone knows you need time. Everyone wants to help and counsel you. Compared to Thorin’s, your path to the throne will be easy._

He flinched. _Mother, you— you don’t understand—_

Dís set her pliers down on the tabletop rather harder than necessary. _What did you think it meant to be the Heir, Fíli? You act as though no one ever told you. And this is only the start!_

She spun on her stool to face him. _You’ll leave tonight for three days’ retreat at the lodge. You’ll answer the elders' questions, and what’s more, you will_ listen _to them. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but some people in this world are wiser than you._

She turned her back and picked up her pliers again, wincing at the silver wire that had sprung out of shape. _I’ve said what I have to say. You may go._


	6. Marked

Fíli had expected envy _(Why can’t I go?)_ or betrayal _(You’re leaving me behind?!)_ or a thorny silence to soothe with coaxing. But Kíli surprised him with fear, real and gnawing fear. 

_You’re leaving. O Mahal. You’re g…going to go._  
  
_It’s just three days, Kíli. It’s expected of me—_  
  
_Don’t go._  
  
_I won’t be far._  
  
_Don’t go._ Kíli’s eyes swam with tears of panic. He clapped both hands over his mouth and turned away. 

If Thorin were here, he’d tell Kíli to cease this silly dwarfling’s behavior. But Fíli knew what lay at its root: the memory of a mountain cracking in half between their feet, stranding each on opposite sides of a chasm. _Does this feel the same to him?_ he wondered. 

Laying one palm between his _naddith’s_ shoulder blades, he spoke very reasonably. _What is this, brother? I’ll be half a day away only; if you needed me, I’d come—_

Kíli’s hands muffled his voice. _If you go, I won’t say goodbye to you._  
  
_Kíli, you’re hurting me._ Distraught, Fíli added another hand beside the first. _If I didn’t have to go, I wouldn’t. I’m going to miss you just as much as you’ll miss me. Please, Naddith; let’s not part this way._

A shudder, a sniff, and suddenly Kíli turned and wrenched him close. 

Immense relief. Everything would be all right. Kíli wouldn’t be afraid now and neither would he; he’d go and come back and everything would continue as it always had been and always should be—

Kíli’s teeth sank into the long muscle of Fíli’s shoulder. 

Shock and pain juddered through him; a shout crested in his throat. He would have fought like a trapped wildcat if Kíli had not wailed into his flesh. The grief-stricken cry traveled directly into his bones, shaking loose his logic; before he could think clearly about what he was doing, Fíli bit Kíli back. 

They instantly relaxed into one another. 

It was the strangest thing they’d ever done. Eyes closed, locked together tooth and claw but utterly calm, they filled their lungs with each other’s scent – skin, sweat, salt, hair - and felt acutely, unaccountably, savagely glad. 

The moment might have stretched forever if Haya had not come singing down the hallway: 

_…you said you would take any dragon’s dare_  
_to win and to bring me a gemstone fair…_

As they stumbled apart, Kíli’s eyes struck Fíli blow after blow: anger, need, misery, confusion, love. 

_(now just try to go)_


	7. Hammer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter got left out! As I transferred and arranged the text, I tied myself in a knot. I apologize for this. Eventually I'll get the hang of AO3.

Even as his mind shrank inward, Fíli’s feet kept moving of their own will. They carried him far from the house, down the mountain, treading hard-packed dirt and stone. In time he surfaced to find himself in the village with no memory of the path that brought him there. 

He stopped to lave his wound with water from the pump. It didn’t smart much – Kíli had not broken the skin – but _ai Mahal,_ how it ached! He kept hooking aside his collar to touch the blue-purple bruise. 

_Zanid did that,_ he thought, taking an odd pride in the fact. _Zanid did that to me. And I did that to Zanid._

The thought of Kíli turned him toward the forge. Mahal knew that by this time tomorrow, he’d be surrounded by foes; he might as well be among friends now. 

With laughter and back slaps, Torli and Skili and Hahal greeted Fíli and made room for him at their anvil. An iron shank glowed in the coals, ready to be beaten into a sparth blade; Fíli’s strong, swift arm would help it along. He gratefully stripped off his tunic, seized a hammer and took up his place. 

Joint-jarring rhythm; rolling drops of sweat; stinging sparks drove his thoughts ahead. 

Couldn’t his mother see? These elders would push him toward the same maw that devoured Thorin— and she would help them! And why should he be made to feel like a coward? Never before had he turned down a dare or held back from a fight. Never before had he pled inexperience as a reason not to try— 

_(Then why start now?)_

As his hammer fell and rose and fell again, Fíli gave in little by little to shame. Already Dís had lost so much to the great machine of Erebor. Yet here he was, seeing only her anger and answering with his own. A less selfish son might have comforted her… but the last thing he would do, either with Dís or himself, was be honest. 

_(for studying meant preparing and preparing meant becoming and becoming meant doing and he did not want to do this because he was afraid, and admitting it would make him a weakling whose own mother would mock and insult him even though he’d rather die than disappoint her, and he must never show that he, Fíli, son of Dís, grandson of Thráin, great-grandson of Thrór, Heir of Thorin Oakenshield, DID NOT WANT TO BE KING UNDER THE MOUNTAIN, not now, not years hence, not ever, and saying aloud what you’re not even supposed to think leads to ruin, ruin, ruin—)_

Hands pulling at him; voices shouting over the din. _Fíli. Fíli._

Again, the uneasy sense that he had passed through something without noticing it. His friends circled him, patting his arms and shoulders as though he were a spooked animal. 

_You beat the anvil even when the blade wasn’t on it,_ Torli explained in a rush. _We took it away to heat it, and still you hammered!  
  
Easy, now, son,_ rumbled Simi the forgemaster. He gently gripped the back of Fíli’s neck in one massive, calloused mitt and gave him a friendly, admonishing shake. _What use is good work when it does you a harm? I’ll finish. You sit— go on._

Skili brought a bucket of cold water and a dipper. While Fíli drank, Hahal - quietest and most observant among the young smiths – watched him closely. Unnoticed by the others, he hand-signed to the Heir. 

_(You’re acting strange. What’s doing?)_  
  
_(I’m being sent away for a few days.)_  
  
_(Are you in trouble?)_

Fíli snorted. Lifting his sweat-tangled hair with one hand, he used the other to scoop water over his nape and shoulders, showing off his bite-mark in the process. Humor once again infused his glance as he signed back to Hahal. 

_(I might be.)_

Hahal made the sign for ‘archer’ – drawing back an invisible bowstring and opening his fingers wide as if to release a tiny arrow – and raised his eyebrows. He understood; he had younger brothers. 

_But none like mine,_ thought Fíli. 

All during the strenuous uphill walk home, the memory of Kíli teased and bit at him like a blackfly. When he tired of waving it off and decided instead to focus on it, it wouldn’t land. At one point he managed to trap and look at it squarely, but that made the ache far, far worse— and then when he shooed it, it wouldn’t budge. 

_It’s good that I’m going,_ he concluded. _We’ll be able to start over._ But the pain of Kíli’s bite-mark taunted in return, _Just try, just try, just try._


	8. Remember

Dís’ wet lashes adhered in tiny, delicate brush-points, lending her reddened eyes a curious starry look. As Fíli entered, she quickly rose and pressed both fists to her breastbone: the hand-sign for regret, which Fíli just as quickly returned. As they embraced, he took care to offer her his unwounded shoulder. 

Upon the fireside bench, Dís had arranged a comb, a set of new silver hair ornaments, and a jar of pomade scented with lavender, chamomile, and fennelseed— the blend she herself had composed for Fíli while he still nursed at her breast. She gestured him to the seat before her, and he bent his head meekly as she began to comb his hair, unplaited and still damp from the bath. 

_When the elders examined Thorin,_ she said, _our father insisted on being there. He planted himself right in your uncle’s line of sight and gave him a look I swore you’d never get from me.  
  
Why?  
  
To unnerve Thorin, to test his composure. He held firm, of course._ Dís pressed the comb’s teeth against Fíli’s scalp, drawing it from crown to nape and evoking from him a gratified hiss. _I tell you this, Treasure, because you really must try harder to master yourself. You’ll soon have to receive all sorts of visitors properly, and not always with forewarning. You won’t always like what they say, but you must learn to pretend for the sake of peace._

For the space of one breath Fíli went very still, then nodded. _Yes, Mother. I’m sorry._

How much of his young life had he spent saying those exact words? It saddened Dís to take him to task, but raising a king left scant room for indulgence. 

_The elders you will meet are twelve in number,_ she continued. _Who is senior amongst them, and what is his duty to you?_  
  
_Ninur of Balbûnzudnu. He advised Thráin in his later years and was Uncle’s teacher and counselor. He will be the same to me._  
  
_And your friend, too, if you’ll let him. You already know where Ninur is from— do you remember the names of the other elders’ mountains?_

Fíli closed his eyes. _Grey, Blue, Red, Misty, Iron…_ One remained, but through the nagging ache of Kíli’s mark, he couldn’t… 

Dís nudged him, laughing. _Lonely! The Lonely Mountain, where your throne is. Did you forget?_ She gathered the crown into a temporary knot and sectioned off his sidelocks. _It’s a good thing Thráin isn’t here, but I wish Thorin was. He’d have given you and Kíli strength._  
  
_Kíli..._ Fíli tried to turn his head. 

_Face front or it will all be off-kilter!_ Dís scolded. She rubbed some pomade between her fingertips and began to braid. _I would like to see you wear your grey wool with the blue embroidery. And the elk-skin jacket; you look very fine in that. I want you looking like a Durin, not a doorstep peddler. Kíli’s packing for you. Perhaps he can ride with you and Bhurin as far as the oak grove—_  
  
_No!_

Dís’ fingers stilled; without turning around, Fíli knew she looked askance at him. He backtracked to cover over his harshness. _No, Mother; please— let’s say goodbye at the gate instead, all of us together._

This time she removed her hands altogether, a subtle command to turn and face her. He twisted around and seized a fistful of her skirt, speaking quickly before he was bidden. _Partings are too hard for Kíli. If he follows us, he will have to return alone, and… I don’t want him to be by himself._

Lips tight-pressed, Dís contemplated her son’s begging eyes for a long moment. Then she nodded and placed her hand atop his head to turn him gently back to the firelight.

___________________

That evening at the lodge, Fíli opened his pack to find Kíli’s belongings mingled with his own. 

An old nightshirt threadworn to skin-softness. A hood smelling of Kíli’s pomade, angelica and yarrow and melissa. One of his leather wrist cuffs. A spray of birch catkins from the deer forest. 

Little barbs; little reminders. 

_(amê)_


	9. Mountain

When Kíli was a child, he asked Thorin why the Lonely Mountain was lonely. Did it not have a _nadad?_

Thorin snorted. _The mountain is called so because it stands_ zusul, _alone, out in the middle of a plain. There are no other peaks nearby, not for miles and miles. That’s why it’s known as Azsâlul'abad._  
  
But it isn’t the Mountain That Stands Alone. It’s the Lonely Mountain— azsâlul, _lonely. Why?_  
  
It’s a remote place, Thorin corrected himself. _Some people find it depressing. They think the mountain feels the same way they do. But we won’t be depressed when we get there. It’s our home. I’m going to win it back for us someday; you’ll see._  
  
_Is that where you go when you go away?_  
  
_No, Kíli; I want to, but I can't. Now let me be._

Silence for a few minutes, then an ominous sniff, followed soon by a stifled choking sound. 

_What’s the matter now?_ growled Thorin, weary beyond measure. Days sweating over the anvil; months traveling to plead with chieftains too lazy to reach for a homeland; one moment to sit and rest... 

_(and think about Ganin, Ganin...)_

_Lonely,_ squeaked little Kíli. _Means all alone._ And he laid his little dark head on his knees and cried in heartbroken gulps, _Oh, oh, oh._

Why did the child take every little thing so hard? Always overflowing with woe for fallen nestlings, solitary islands, lost-looking clouds, and apparently now mountains. It was maddening! 

_Well, if it bothers you so much, don’t call it Azsâlul'abad!_ Thorin snapped. _Call it_ Erebor, _the name everybody else uses, a word that means nothing to your own people— just quit your sniveling!_

As if spell-summoned, Fíli appeared. He said nothing, but swiftly took Kíli away. 

Thorin never guessed that it was Thorin for whom Kíli cried.

___________________

For three days following Fíli's departure, Kíli became like Azsâlul'abad, a silent, solitary rock in the middle of a wide wasteland. Would Thorin have recognized him, or liked him better this way? At least he did not cry. 

Standing in the shadow cast by his pain, Dís' and Fenja's hearts ached. They knew he could not reach out from his exile, nor could they get close enough to liberate him. But it wasn't for them to do anyway. Only on the fourth day, when the sound of boot steps thundered on the stairs and Fíli cried, _Kíli, Kíli,_ could he be broken free from stone.


	10. Rough Gem

At noon that day, Fíli – accompanied by Elder Ninur of Balbûnzudnu – reappeared at Thorinutumnu’s doors. After formal greetings and introductions, he stood jittering until Dís laughed and sent him racing upstairs to Kíli. 

She ushered Ninur into Thorin’s library, where the stoop-shouldered old Khuzd roamed for a considerable time, noting down titles in a calf-hide ledger. At last he produced a cheerful, gold-toothed smile. 

_It might be all right,_ Dís told herself. _I think it will be all right. Maybe._

Ninur turned to another section of his tome, coughed, and began. 

_In all Khazâd studies – history, laws, literature, forge-arts – the Heir excels. If I had one criticism, I would call his grasp of tribal distinctions needful of fine-tuning._ A chuckle. _All he could say of Firebeards was that they have red hair._  
  
_And what color is their hair?_  
  
_Red, of course, my Lady._ Ninur snorted. _Fluent Westron spoken, read, and written. A few Rohirric words. No Elvish whatsoever._ He regarded Dís sadly over the top of the ledger. _The latter requires attention._  
  
_I suppose,_ said Dís. 

_Knowledge of Elven culture and custom: weak, as is his desire to increase it. His acquaintance with Men is greater, but limited to the common folk of Bree and Dale. Travel to Rohan and Gondor advised._ Ninur peered at a footnote. _Strangely, he is most knowledgeable about fur-feet._  
  
_He has a friend among their kind._  
  
_Ah! Well, then… Adequate knowledge of geography, industry, trade. As for politics, the Heir appears to have paid close attention to the actions of his predecessor._ The sage cleared his throat. _He is able to say what he would do the same… and what he would do differently, if you follow my meaning._  
  
_We all knew Thorin’s style of diplomacy,_ said Dís. _I take no offense._  
  
_Thank you, my Lady. Military arts: ample battle-skill but no strategy. As he so kindly informed us at the first, he knows how to forge a sword and swing it. Now he must learn to tell others how to swing theirs._

A small grimace from Dís. 

_He tells us he prays daily, honors his ancestors, and keeps the folkways, but that no court ritual or etiquette is practiced here,_ Ninur resumed. 

_No, none._ Dís clasped her hands. _It makes no sense in our present lives._  
  
_And Fíli - may I call him so? - has no desire to reinstate it._ Ninur closed his ledger and set it aside. _You have gifted us with a rough gem— quick-minded and plain-spoken in the way of our folk. And while he clearly benefited from –_ Ninur gestured at the books all around them – _not all of his knowledge was, as we say,_ received. 

_He thinks for himself, you mean._  
  
_That is one way of putting it. For one so quiet, he expresses himself quite forcefully on occasion._  
  
_Oh, no,_ thought Dís. But she shone a mild, quizzical smile upon Ninur and said merely, _How so?_

Here the elder picked up the tankard of ale Fenja had served him and turned it restlessly. He seemed to be pondering his foothold. _Since Fíli’s Heir is a brother close to his own age, we naturally thought to school_ nadad _and_ naddith _just as we did your brothers, together side by side at Balbûnzudnu…_

High on the cliffs of the notorious Ice Bay, Ninur’s hall encompassed a vast library preserved by the same deadly chill that staved off potential guests. Thorin and Frerin had shivered through their mandatory stint there; Dís’ sons must also. But Ninur’s praise of Fíli so distracted her that its coda – quietly spoken – nearly slipped past. 

_…but the Heir forbids it._

Dís’ politesse momentarily forsook her. _Forbids it! What in Mahal’s name did he say to you?_  
  
_A mouthful, my Lady._ Peering down into the tankard, Ninur smiled wryly at his reflection in the ale. _He is spare of speech, but he keeps the blade-edge of his tongue most impressively sharp._  
  
_He’ll apologize._ Dís reached for the summoning bell, but Ninur halted her. 

_No need, my Lady. But tell me. The Heir and his brother: are they very close?_  
  
_Oh, they’re the best of friends,_ Dís assured him. _Each one the other’s right hand._  
  
_And very seldom apart?_  
  
_Hardly ever. Kíli’s been very low these past three days... but you were saying..._  
  
_Yes; I beg your pardon. Am I also to gather that Kíli does not quite equal his brother as a scholar?_

 _He…_ Dís gave a quick glance toward the door. She did not wish her critique, however gentle, to be overheard. _He’s not one for books, it's true. He likes to tell and be told stories rather than read them on a page. But he remembers everything he's told, even if he sometimes needs help in putting it together. He learns things by doing them, and then he does them very well._  
  
_And his injury?_ Ninur touched his temple, where the hair grew sparse and mithril-white. 

_It weakened his pen hand— Master, please._ Dís’ tone had grown sharp. _Tell me what Fíli said!_  
  
_He said that Kíli has no use for lessons and cannot sit still long enough to hear them anyway. He said that Kíli is disruptive and quick-tempered and suffers from terrible headaches, and that he ought to stay at home. And if Kíli stays at home, Fíli certainly must as well, because Kíli only gets worse when Fíli’s not around. And so there’s no point in asking him._  
  
_To go with you to Balbûnzudnu?_

Pinpoints of light gleamed in the elder’s wizened eyes. _To be King._

Dís exploded into raucous laughter. She was aware that she sounded like an old tree-top crow; she certainly felt as triumphant. _Oh,_ she croaked, wiping her eyes. _Oh. Even_ Frerin _could not have pulled that off._

Ninur smiled and closed his ledger. _You think I am joking._  
  
_You must be! Who asks a King to be King? He just IS._  
  
_Is he?_

In confusion, Dís’ laughter guttered out. 

_You and I view it as a given, a tale with an ending we already know. But Fíli is young. He sees the prospect of reigning as only that: a prospect. One possible outcome among many, none ready to be named._ Ninur took a swallow of ale, either to reward himself for surviving this ordeal or to gird himself for the next. _Only one thing was made clear to me: I’m to leave Kíli alone. The Heir was most clear on this point. He said – and I quote –_ When and if the time ever comes, you’ll have me. Leave my _naddith_ out of it. 

Dís abruptly rose to feed a few sticks to the fire— not that it needed them; she simply wished to conceal her emotion. _You met my Kíli once. Do you remember?_

Ninur nodded. _A few years ago it was. Lively lad; swift as quicksilver, fearless—_  
  
_Not any more._ Retaking her seat, Dís cast a look of pardon his way. _In some ways he’s a child again; in other ways, an old man. His thoughts and speech are slow. He has fits—_ falling, _he calls it. He laughs and cries and shouts for no reason and flinches at shadows._ She paused. _It would break your heart, remembering as you do a boy afraid of nothing._  
  
_My Lady, words are too weak to carry my sorrow to you,_ ventured Ninur. 

_He’s afraid of many things now._ Dís picked up a large, raw quartz crystal cluster from the table at her elbow and held it in both hands to borrow its might. _Right now he’s hiding upstairs, because he is afraid of you. Yes! YOU mean to steal his Fíli away!_

The venerable old dwarf bowed his head. 

_Master Ninur,_ Dís continued. _If there is one thing that saves Kíli from despair, it is Fíli. Every day, my eldest works to keep his brother strong in the face of his many fears. Kíli is more than his mission; Kíli is his life’s joy. Everything else pales beside that. Even the Crown— understand?_

Ninur slowly nodded. 

_My silly child would ransom himself to the Nazgûl for his brother. If all they want is a small reprieve before Erebor calls, I must grant it._ Dís handed Ninur the crystal; he would need more than ale for the next leg of their negotiations. _Can you not as well?_

 _If only it were my decision alone,_ said Ninur with regret. Still, he accepted the crystal. _The other elders must be informed. They will not be happy. Already they see Fíli’s reluctance, perhaps even clearer than he sees it within himself. It fast becomes the topic of argument and debate. But boil it and strain it and let it sit, and it still comes out the same._

_Which is?_

_I am the eldest of elders. I am the King’s teacher, as well as his chief advisor. I set the day, the hour and minute of his crowning in Erebor. And since all this is so…_ With a smile, Ninur held up the crystal to admire it in the lamplight. _I believe I can delay his departure until the Ice Bay thaws._

 _It never thaws,_ observed Dís, which drew another, wider smile from Ninur. 

_Indeed, my Lady,_ he said. _So my old bones have whispered to me for years._

___________________

All during supper at their humble kitchen table, Kíli kept darting proud, worshipful little glances at Fíli. 

_He’s going to stay,_ he whispered to no one in particular— or maybe just to himself, for reassurance. _He told them. Didn’t you?_ He elbowed Fíli, who rubbed his back to quiet him. 

Dís reached over and gently tucked a stray curl behind Fíli’s ear.


End file.
